


the good part comes between wanting and needing

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Biting, Dirty Talk, F/F, Hair-pulling, Kinktober 2018, Restraints, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sleepy Sex, Spanking, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-25 15:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: Fics written for Kinktober 2018





	1. bliss is too deep to understand

**Author's Note:**

> Week 1: Against a wall
> 
> Bernie and Serena have a night out at the opera.  
>  _Can be read as a part of the *batteries not included universe._

Bernie eyes herself critically in the long mirror, turning this way and that as she smooths her dress over her thighs. She can’t remember the last time she’s worn a frock like this, is infinitely more comfortable in scrubs and camo than silk and satin. Formal wear always makes her feel like a little girl playing in her mother’s clothes, all gangly limbs and uncertainty. But she promised Serena, so here she is, dressed to the nines despite her better judgement.

This is all Sian’s fault. 

Serena’s friend turned up on the ward earlier in the month in a skintight dress and a cloud of expensive perfume, asking if she could “borrow” Serena for a night of drinks and catching up. Bernie sent them off with a smile, getting a quick peck and a murmured “Best not to wait up” from Serena before Sian dragged her off the ward. 

It didn’t bother Bernie any. She’s glad Serena has friends she can spend time with. Of anyone, Bernie knows their careers and hectic schedules make maintaining relationships difficult at best. She just can’t help but wish that Serena was a little less... _forthcoming_ when it comes to discussing their relationship with Sian. Because lately every time Sian appears on the ward she has a tendency to look Bernie up and down as if she knows _exactly_ what she looks like naked. At least she generally behaves herself in front of their colleagues, aside from some rather suggestive innuendos and one well-placed pinch to Bernie’s rear that she denies to this day.

Over breakfast following their night out, a rather worse for wear Serena slid a pair of tickets across the table, saying they were a gift from Sian. That the event in question is considered the highlight of the season at the Royal Opera House.

“According to Sian, _Der Rosenkavalier_ is ‘like catnip for lesbians,’ so when it conflicted with her schedule she immediately thought of us.”

Bernie rolled her eyes at that. Normally she wouldn’t be interested in getting dressed up and sitting through four hours of singing in German, no matter what the sapphic lure of the content. But Serena looked so excited at the idea of a proper night out, even suggesting they get a hotel for the occasion, that Bernie had no hope of resisting.

The dress was Charlotte’s idea. They’ve been seeing each other more of late, taking small steps towards rebuilding their relationship; truly getting to know one another for the first time. When Bernie mentioned the opera over coffee, Charlie immediately asked what she was wearing. Apparently puzzled blinking was not the appropriate response, which was how she found herself in the dress department of Selfridges, her daughter enthusiastically piling frocks in her arms. Countless dresses and an interminable amount of time later, Charlie declared this the winner, reassuring Bernie with a coy smile that Serena would love it.

Bernie herself is still less convinced, but it’s too late to change now. Stepping into a pair of tomato red kitten heels (another of Charlotte’s ideas), she retrieves the delicate chain bracelet from the nearby desk, fingers fumbling with the tiny, over complicated clasp.

“I think I need to buy season tickets for the opera.”

Hands stilling on the unhooked bracelet Bernie turns to face Serena, breath catching in her chest at the sight of her standing in the door of the ensuite. In the back of her mind she knows she should say something, should offer some compliment. 

“Wow,” she eventually manages to croak out, jaw hanging open uselessly.

She barely registers Serena’s approach, eyes too busy taking in the long wine red velvet dress skimming over every curve of her body, the vee of the neck cut just low enough to reveal a tantalizing swell of cleavage, a simple ruby pendant nestled precisely where she would very much like to be. The wrap of the dress, cinched with a wide satin ribbon to emphasize the dip of Serena’s narrow waist, flaps open a little when she walks, giving a glimpse of legs encased in sheer black stockings, feet clad in shiny black pumps with a death-defying heel and lipstick red sole.

“My goodness, Major. Don’t you clean up nicely.” Serena’s eyes are smokier than normal, smirking lips a deep blood red. “Need some help with that?”

“What?” It takes Bernie a moment to follow Serena’s gaze, to remember the bracelet she’s still gripping awkwardly. “Oh, um, right. Yes, please.”

The touch of Serena’s fingers on the skin of Bernie’s wrist, the heat of her body, the scent of her perfume ( _New_ , Bernie thinks vaguely, something deep and warm) has Bernie clenching her free hand to keep from tugging the end of that satin ribbon, sliding her hands beneath the halves of the velvet gown, across warm skin…

“There.” Serena’s voice, thick with amusement, breaks her reverie and Bernie blinks, bewildered, looking down to find the bracelet secured around her wrist. Serena takes a step away, gaze sweeping over Bernie, eyes dark with appreciation.

“Is it, um, okay?” She feels suddenly insecure, fingers tugging at the hem of a lace sleeve at her elbow, plucking invisible fluff from the smooth flowing silk of the skirt.

“ _Okay_ is a bit of an understatement, darling.” Serena circles her slowly, a designer-clad predator. The unexpected feel of fingers ghosting along her exposed spine pulls a gasp from Bernie, heat coiling low in her belly. “I do so love this color on you.”

The tightness in Serena’s voice, the hint of arousal, sets Bernie at ease. She may not be comfortable in a dress, but _this_? This she knows. 

“I thought you might.” 

Their eyes lock in the mirror, Serena’s hand sliding around Bernie’s waist to rest at her hip, pale skin and blood red nails stark against the deep blue silk. Bernie watches as Serena leans in, dark lips a hairsbreadth from her jaw.

“I have a surprise for you tonight,” Serena murmurs, her warm breath raising goosebumps on Bernie’s skin.

“Do you?” Bernie turns in her loose embrace, fingertips resting lightly on Serena’s hips, velvet rich and warm against her skin.

“Mmm-hmm. But that’s for later.” Eyes falling to Serena’s lips, Bernie leans in, brow furrowing when Serena moves just out of her reach. “No kissing,” she warns, making Bernie squirm slightly. Someday she should probably analyze why Serena’s stern voice turns her on so very much, but now is hardly the time. 

“Why not?”

“We’ll both ruin our lipstick and I for one don’t feel like having to redo it.” She relents to Bernie’s disappointed pout, nuzzling their noses together in a soft caress. 

Bernie considers ignoring the request, but manages to restrain herself. _Just_. “Later?”

“Later, I promise.” Serena steps away, Bernie’s body immediately missing her warmth, her touch. “Shall we, darling? We don’t want to be late for dinner.” 

Eyes closed, Bernie swallows hard, attempting to rein in her body’s response before grabbing her handbag and following Serena from the room.

…

Dinner is at a restaurant that’s all the rage on the food scene, the ingredients locally sourced and shockingly expensive, paired with the finest wines the world has to offer. Bernie called every favor she could think of to get the reservation. It’s a shame she doesn’t remember a thing about the experience, in the end. 

Concentrating on the flavors of the meal, the nuances of the wine, is impossible when Serena is sitting across from her, positively smoldering in the the dim candlelight, looking at Bernie like she wishes she was devouring something other than the succulent lamb on her plate. Every word between them is laced with suggestion, each bite of food a flirtation in its own right.

By the time dessert is placed before them, Bernie is practically squirming in her seat, entirely distracted by Serena’s foot stroking up and down the inside of her calf. She can’t imagine how she’s going to survive an entire evening of Serena in this mood, for a moment considers suggesting that they abandon the opera entirely and go back to the luxurious bed awaiting them in their hotel room.

The opera house is nothing short of opulent; plush red carpeting and dark woodwork in every direction, huge crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, spilling flickering shards of light over the the well dressed people milling about the lobby, glinting off the gold leaf encrusting the elaborately carved bannisters of the sweeping central staircase. It’s a little intimidating, and normally Bernie would feel terribly self conscious at being so out of her depth. 

But Serena’s hand is tucked in the crook of her arm, pressed close, warm and smiling at Bernie like she hung the stars in night sky, and Bernie finds she’s too happy, too content to feel anything but lucky to be here.

A brief stop at the bar garners them each a meager glass of shiraz for the price, and then they walk carefully up the grand staircase, where a tuxedo-clad usher guides them down a narrow corridor and pulls back a heavy velvet curtain, gesturing them through.

Bernie’s a little stunned to see their tickets are apparently for a private box. Two chairs are set close to a brass railing, overlooking the stage and the seats below, the small alcove swathed in more rich, red velvet, the curtains that divide the space from the other boxes puddled on the floor. All of the fabric deadens the sound around them, and despite the small space, the boxes are angled so that light barely penetrates, making it feel almost as if they’re alone despite the sold out crowd.

They’ve just taken their seats when the sconces in the box dim, spotlights flooding across the front of the stage. Music swells from the orchestra, a glorious noise that fills the space to the rafters. Horns and violins dance together, rising and cresting in what can only be described as an ecstatic climax.

Sian’s words come back to her as the curtain rises on a couple tangled together in an extravagant bed, both of them women, although one is playing a young man. She feels her face flush a bit as they embrace and sing their joy at their affair, ending in an impressively convincing kiss.

Bernie finds herself surprisingly engaged as others enter the scene, laughing along with the audience as young Octavian tries to hide himself from discovery, returning disguised as a maid. The singers bring such vivid emotion to their roles, voices soaring, darting in and out like wheeling birds. It’s utterly enchanting and Bernie can’t help but lean forward a bit, trying to take it all in.

Halfway through the act, Serena’s hand slips into her own, their fingers tangling together. Bernie squeezes gently, gives Serena a small, pleased smile before turning her attention back to the stage. 

As the Marschallin ponders her waning youth and the unhappiness of her forced marriage, she feels Serena shift a bit in her seat, freeing herself from Bernie’s grip. Fingertips trail teasingly along the inside of Bernie’s forearm, tracing from wrist to elbow and back again, blunt fingernails dragging just lightly against her skin, raising a flush of goosebumps in their wake. 

A shiver ripples down Bernie’s spine, only amplified when she turns to find Serena watching her, her eyes dark and intent in the dim light of the box, lips crooked in a half smile that Bernie’s become more accustomed to seeing in the bedroom than in public. Serena continues her caress, never straying past the boundaries she’s chosen, tracing along the muscles of Bernie’s arms, the raised tendons of her wrist. It’s a casual touch, nothing that would be considered inappropriate, but the intent behind it, the sudden sensual energy Bernie can feel radiating from Serena has her shifting in her seat, trying to ease the throbbing between her thighs.

She’s distracted enough that it comes as a surprise when the audience bursts into applause, the lights coming back up around them, making her blink in the sudden brightness. 

“I think I’m going to find the ladies,” Serena says, closer than Bernie expects, her warm breath raising the hairs on the back of Bernie’s neck. It’s clear from her quirked eyebrow that she expects Bernie to follow.

Stepping through the curtain of the box and into the corridor, Serena’s hand catches Bernie’s elbow, tugging her through a previously unnoticed doorway. Giving her only a moment to take in the sumptuously decorated toilet, the snap of the lock pulls her attention just in time to be pushed back against the door and kissed fiercely.

She whimpers a little against Serena’s mouth, stopping her hands from instinctively threading into short cropped hair, redirecting instead to the curve of velvet-clad hips, pulling them flush together. The kiss is messy, all tongues and teeth, tasting of lipstick and shiraz. Somewhere in the back of her mind Bernie knows they’ll be a mess after this, but it’s impossible to care when Serena’s hand is cupping her breast, fingers teasing a nipple through thin fabric.

Serena trails wet open mouth kisses along Bernie’s jaw, breath hot on her skin. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off of you, the way you look in that dress?” Serena’s free hand moves to match the actions of the first and Bernie’s head drops back against the door with a groan.

Unwilling to remain a passive participant, Bernie tightens her grip on Serena’s hips, walking them forward until Serena’s back hits the wall of the small lounge. “You’re one to talk,” she mutters, kissing and licking her way down the column of Serena’s throat. “Damn near gave me a heart attack when you walked out in this.” Peppering kisses across the tantalizing skin exposed by the neckline of her gown, nuzzling close and breathing deep the skin-warmed perfume. “I swear, if I see one more man staring at you…”

Serena chuckles breathlessly. “Jealous, soldier?”

Bernie raises her head, eyes dark, grin fierce. “Absolutely.” Catches Serena’s lips in another searching kiss that leaves them both panting. “You’re _mine_ , Campbell.”

A wide, slow smile spreads across Serena’s face as she leans in, until a rattle of the door handle followed by a sharp knock has them springing apart, wide eyed and giggling. She looks so beautiful, cheeks flushed, lipstick smudged; Bernie can’t help but pull her in for one more kiss, lingering until Serena pushes her away.

“We should get back.” Turning to face the mirror, Serena tuts at her reflection, digging her lipstick out of her purse. “You’ve completely ruined my lipstick!”

“ _I_ did?” Bernie asks incredulously, grabbing a tissue to wipe away the dark smudges of red from her bottom lip and the line of her jaw. “ _You_ started it, as I recall.”

Humming noncommittally, Serena finishes touching up her lips, closing her clutch with a snap. 

A quick peek finds that whoever knocked has gone elsewhere, leaving the corridor blessedly empty. They slip back to their box, hands tightly intertwined, settling in just as the lights dim.

...

Bernie finds her attention wavering in the second act. It has little to do with the performance and everything to do with Serena. 

Her hand finds its way to Bernie’s knee when Octavian presents the silver rose to Sophie, tracing aimless patterns on soft silk as the young lovers sing. Sweeping just shy of anywhere truly inappropriate, but close enough to make Bernie’s nerves hum. She forces herself to tune it out, to focus on the opera rather than Serena’s wandering hand.

Delicate fingers bunch in the fabric above her knee; the slither of silk pulling upward, exposing more of her leg to cool air, making her breath catch. She glances over as the skirt slides up past her knee, fingers resting just below the hem, pinpoints of heat against her skin. Serena’s eyes are glittering in the darkened box, eyebrow quirked in silent inquiry.

One heartbeat, another, stretches between them. 

Wetting her suddenly dry lips, Bernie turns back to face the stage, trembling hands rearranging her skirt to better cover Serena’s hand. She nods sharply, once, letting out a slow shuddering breath as fingers glide upward along the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Eye trained resolutely forward, she shifts, legs dropping open just slightly, hands gripping the edges of her seat. She inhales sharply through her nose as a finger brushes against the lace of her knickers, so soft she could almost have imagined it. The touch comes again, firmer this time, but still gentle. Bernie tries to keep herself from squirming, wonders if Serena can feel how wet she is already.

The pad of a finger presses hard against her clit through the thin fabric and Bernie bites down on her lower lip to keep from moaning. She forces her eyes back open (when had she closed them?), tries to keep her breathing slow and steady as the finger moves in tight circles, sending white hot sparks of pleasure up her spine. The opera passes before her in a swirl of sound and color as Serena’s hand continues to tease. Gentle strokes along the increasingly damp gusset of her knickers, alternating with firm pressure against her clit, have her squirming in her chair, desperate for more.

The delicious pressure disappears; Bernie can’t help but chase after it, can’t stop her hips from bucking upward. She feels as much as hears a dark chuckle from beside her, their bodies now pressed tight together from shoulder to thigh. The backs of Serena’s fingers brush along her inner thigh, pressing lightly to spread Bernie’s legs wider.

Fingers dip beneath lace, gliding through hot, silky wetness to push inside her and Bernie knows she lets out a noise before she’s able to restrain herself. She’s suddenly incredibly aware of the closeness of the other boxes, separated by little more than thick, heavy curtains. She sees occasional flickers of movement at the far edges of her periphery, other opera goers with their eyes blessedly fixed on the stage. The knowledge of how little it would take for someone to see, for someone to notice Serena _fucking_ her like this (and there’s no other word for it, really) has her clenching around the fingers filling her.

The strains of a waltz fill the theater, voices soaring above it, thankfully enough to cover her helpless whimper at the heel of Serena’s hand grinding against her clit with perfect pressure, fingers plunging into her again and again. It’s overwhelming and she has to clench her teeth to hold back a cry as she comes, clenching around nimble surgeon’s fingers, eyes squeezed shut so tightly stars blossom across her vision.

Bernie slumps back in her seat, panting, barely registering Serena’s hand slipping from beneath her skirt. Eyes startled open when the crowd breaks into applause, she sits bolt upright, smoothing her disarrayed dress back into some semblance of order. 

The applause fades into an ocean of murmurs as the lights come up and Serena is there, watching her with dark, sparkling eyes, a predatory smile on her deep red lips. “Enjoying the opera, darling?”

Bernie honks out a laugh, stretching feeling back into her hands from where they were clenched. “I’m certainly starting to see the appeal.”

Serena stands before her, extending a hand to help her rise on shaky legs. “I’m glad. After all, there is another act to... _enjoy_.” Her voice is low with delicious intention, making Bernie shiver. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

…

They’re barely through the door of the loo before they’re all over each other and Bernie only just has the presence of mind to lock the door with one hand, the other occupied with trying to find the quickest way inside the bodice of Serena’s gown. She barely notices her hip banging into the marble countertop when Serena’s teeth are nipping the perfect spot at the base of her neck. Threading her fingers into Serena’s hair, Bernie pulls her up into a hot, thorough kiss, only breaking away when her lungs are begging for air. They’re both panting, foreheads pressed together, Serena’s hands braced on the counter on either side of Bernie’s hips.

“If I’d known going to the opera could be like this, I’d have started years ago.”

Serena laughs, smile wide and Bernie catches her in another, softer kiss. She’s never considered herself lucky, much the opposite in fact, has spent most of her life dismissing luck as a fallacy, an excuse people use to justify the vagaries and coincidences of life. Being with Serena, finding and loving someone who takes such obvious delight in the wholehearted pursuit of Bernie’s own pleasure; well, it’s hard not to consider herself the luckiest woman in the world.

“The opera isn’t over yet.” Serena’s eyes flick up from Bernie’s lips, the heat in her gaze making it hard to breathe. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

Bernie can only nod mutely as Serena pulls away, tugging over a stool from beneath the counter. Lowering herself onto the seat, she presses a soft kiss against Bernie's flat stomach as her eyes roam upward over the length of torso, a wicked smile on her lips as their eyes lock. Her hands trail down along Bernie's thighs, soft, barely touching, then more firmly as they slide back up, taking the material of Bernie's dress with them. Bernie's breath catches in her throat, hands gripping the cold marble for balance against the tug on the waistband of her knickers, sliding them over her hips and down past her knees.

“Spread your legs for me, love,” Serena murmurs, her low voice sending a bolt of arousal through Bernie. She can feel herself flush as she complies, a cool whisper of air against the heat between her thighs.

Serena drops another kiss against her belly, smile widening, before turning and retrieving a small satin pouch from her handbag. She pulls out a slate grey item, vaguely c-shaped, fitting easily in the palm of her hand. Eyes returning to Bernie's, she skims her hand back up along the smooth skin of her inner thigh before gently parting her lips with one finger, humming at the wetness she finds.

“Oh my, you _are_ eager, aren't you?" Serena purrs. Bernie tries to suppress the shiver that runs up her spine; it just comes out as a moan instead.

She brings the toy close with her other hand, maintaining eye contact. Bernie can feel her breath coming quicker, unable to see what Serena is doing past the barrier of her dress. A moment, then fingers spreading her wider and the feel of cool silicone pressing against her entrance. Serena's eyes darken at Bernie's gasp.

“All right?” Bernie shifts slightly, adjusting to the feel. The toy cups her, one arm nestled against her g-spot, the other pressing firmly against her clit. Surprisingly unobtrusive, all things considered, even the slightest movement makes her suddenly aware, nerve endings firing. Her mind spinning away, imagining Serena's plans, it takes Bernie a moment to remember she’s been asked a question. She opens her eyes, looking down into Serena's beautiful face and nods.

Serena smiles again, quickly shimmying Bernie's knickers back up her legs, the press of the fabric holding the toy even more firmly in place. Rising to press a soft kiss to Bernie's cheek, one hand briefly cups Bernie and the toy through the layers of fabric.

“Good girl.” A beat, the air between them charged and electric and then Serena steps away, turning to the mirror to return her hair and makeup to some semblance of order. “Shall we, darling? We don't want to be late for the _finale_.”

Her emphasis on the word sets Bernie’s mind awhirl once again, clenching unconsciously on the toy inside her. Legs a little weak, she finally manages to push herself away from the counter, following Serena back out into the hall. Wondering how on earth she’s going to survive what Serena has planned for her.

…

What Serena has planned, as it turns out, is driving Bernie absolutely mad with anticipation by doing...nothing. Nothing at all. 

Song after song passes, none of them able to take hold in Bernie’s mind. All she can focus on is the inches of space between them that suddenly yawn like a chasm. The unrelenting pressure between her thighs. The _waiting_.

When Serena does finally touch her - a hand on her wrist, fingers trailing lightly up the sensitive inside of her forearm - for a moment Bernie’s afraid that alone might be enough to make her come. Her whole body shudders, desperate for any sensation. She turns toward Serena, wanting more, _needing_ more. 

Instead of the dark, heated gaze she anticipates, she’s a little miffed to find Serena looking down, apparently absorbed in something on her cell phone. Ric is supposed to be covering for them this evening, she thinks, so if it’s the hospital it must be bad. Disappointment coils in her gut as she tries to push back her arousal, to force herself to think about medical matters rather than the heat of Serena’s hand on her skin. 

Bernie reaches down to retrieve her clutch and check her own phone just as Serena taps the screen. The toy comes unexpectedly to life, vibrations humming merrily against her clit. She lets out a garbled cry loud enough that she can see someone in the next box turn briefly in their direction. Serena’s hand slides up across her shoulder, lightly squeezing the back of her neck as she leans close.

“Quiet, love. Otherwise I’ll have to stop.”

Bernie whimpers, nods her understanding, squirming a bit as Serena moves away. Her hands find their way back to the edges of her seat, gripping tight. The vibrations are gentle, thrumming against her softly, but she fears it won’t be long. Her body is already too worked up from her earlier orgasm and Serena’s teasing. 

The act passes by in a blur of color and sound, Bernie’s world reduced to the buzzing between her thighs, the hand that rests at the back of her neck, fingers teasing through the fine hair at the nape, the heat of Serena’s eyes. She does her very best to stay still and silent, held in place by her white knuckled grip and Serena’s will, her rapid breathing and fluttering eyes the only outward indication of just how close she is to shattering apart.

Those small tells are more than enough for Serena, who plays Bernie more skillfully than any of the world class musicians in the orchestra below. Her thumb perched over her phone, she slowly escalates the vibrations, takes Bernie to the very edge, only to drop them back to a bare flutter before she can fall. Again and again, each time edging Bernie that much closer before pulling her back.

It’s utterly maddening and Bernie knows with certainty that if they weren’t in public she’d be begging Serena for release. Serena clearly knows it too, a wicked smile quirking her lips as she watches Bernie intently.

The trio of women take take the stage, voices intertwining, layering over and around one another in a growing crescendo that is echoed by the rumbling vibrations again rising in intensity. A flick of Serena’s thumb and the inner arm comes to life, pulsing, a deep thrumming counterpoint to the relentless stimulation of Bernie’s clit, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip to restrain a cry, hard enough she fears she may draw blood. 

Music and sensation blend, amplify, hurtling toward ecstasy, an unstoppable wave that Bernie is swept away on helplessly as the young lovers embrace, singing of their undying love. The intensity of it all is almost too much, too overwhelming. A soft, broken sob escapes Bernie’s lips, desperate for something to tether her back to earth. Somehow Serena understands, even as she pushes Bernie’s pleasure ever higher. The fingers in Bernie’s hair tighten, twisting around golden curls and tugging her neck back in an arc, the delicious burn grounding her, snapping the last tenuous thread of her control.

Bernie comes hard, pulsing around the toy humming relently inside her, vision going white behind tightly closed eyes, the cry she can no longer contain lost in the thunderous applause of the audience around them. 

As quickly as they started the vibrations cease and Bernie slumps back in her seat, boneless and panting. She feels Serena’s lips brush against her ear, the edge of her jaw, just hears her murmured words of love and praise over the chatter of the crowd making its way back to the lobby.

...

The cool night air is bliss on Bernie’s overheated skin as they exit the opera house, her legs still a little wobbly, the toy and her ruined knickers tucked safely away in her clutch. Serena’s hand is warm and steady in hers as they make their way back to the hotel, walking in silence, the air practically humming between them. Bernie catches Serena looking at her out of the corner of her vision, eyes dark and liquid, cheeks flushed, a smug little smile on her red lips. She looks every inch the cat who ate the canary, like she’s ready to pounce again at any moment.

They pass a large house with a high garden wall, and in a moment of inspiration, Bernie pulls Serena around the corner, pressing her up against the rugged stone, shielded from street lights and passing cars by an overhanging rose hedge, heavy with a profusion of white blossoms. She cuts off Serena’s confused protest with a kiss, deep and searching, tongue delving into Serena’s mouth until she goes soft and pliant.

Her eyes are a little glassy when Bernie breaks the kiss, lips parted and breath quickened, and Bernie can’t resist leaving another soft kiss against her bottom lip.

“When we get back to the hotel I’m going to have you,” Bernie whispers, the movement brushing their mouths together lightly. “Again and again. Until you _beg_ me to stop.” She thrills at Serena’s sharp gasp, loud in the heady, rose-scented silence that surrounds them. “But I’m not sure you can wait that long. Maybe I should help you take the edge off first.”

Her hand slides across soft velvet, beneath the overlap, finds the slick edge of a stocking and the even softer skin above. Pausing, her fingertips resting barely there on the curve of Serena’s inner thigh, she pulls back just enough to catch Serena’s gaze, heavy lidded and burning, even in the shadow of the wall at her back. A heartbeat passes before Serena nods and shifts her hips, the wrap of her dress falling open that much more.

It’s oh so tempting to tease, to make Serena squirm and beg, feel some of the desperation Bernie has felt all night, but she decides that can wait for the hotel and the comfortable bed, knows that she can and will spend the rest of the night keeping Serena on the edge, until she’s babbling and desperate. For now she can feel Serena’s heat practically radiating against her hand and Bernie is tired of waiting.

Kissing Serena deeply, Bernie swallows her moan as her fingers pull aside sodden silk and push into Serena’s molten heat, the motion almost frictionless. Bernie presses Serena harder into the wall, anchoring her hip behind the rough thrusts of her hand as she sets a pace that quickly has Serena mewling against the side of her neck. Quirking her fingers forward, Bernie circles her thumb against Serena’s clit as she thrusts, feels the sharp pain of teeth sinking into her shoulder and the clench of fluttering muscles.

Flushed and panting, Serena watches as Bernie slips her hand from beneath her dress, groaning out a curse when she takes her glistening fingers into her mouth, softly humming with pleasure. Bernie leans in for a last lingering kiss, letting Serena taste herself on her tongue, hands brushing the soft velvet back into place.

Stepping back out onto the sidewalk, Bernie wraps an arm around Serena’s shoulders, leaning their heads close.

“I think you’re right.” Bernie purses her lips coyly at Serena’s questioning glance. “We should _definitely_ get season tickets to the opera.”

Serena’s delighted laugh echoes down the street as they make their way in the welcoming darkness.


	2. lightly roused you awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 2: sleepy sex

Serena wakes slowly, blinking in the cold early dawn light of her bedroom. She’s still tired, cuddled beneath the thick, warm duvet and can’t for the life of her figure out why she woke up so early when she has the day off.

She is distracted from the mystery when the very distinct, very pleasurable feeling of a tongue slowly stroking at the apex of her thighs pierces the fog of her sleep-addled brain.

Groaning softly she lifts the covers, staring down her own body to find a mop of blonde curls, intense dark eyes, and a thin-lipped smirk smiling back at her.

“Isn’t it a little early?” Serena asks, voice hoarse with sleep and burgeoning arousal.

Bernie shrugs the duvet off from over her head, resting her cheek on Serena’s thigh. “Time change - I’ve been up for hours. I got tired of waiting for you to wake up, so I thought I’d entertain myself.”

“Is that right?” Serena has to try and hold back a yawn despite the shiver that runs through her as Bernie starts lightly stroking her fingers through the dark nest of curls before her. “You do know we have all week? We have plenty of time.”

Bernie’s flight landed late the night before, the final leg of what ended up being a nightmarish eighteen hour journey home from Nairobi. Even as she insisted she was fine, Serena could see Bernie was utterly knackered. Instead of the night of passionate rediscovery they‘d both planned, they instead shed their clothes and curled up together, quickly falling sound asleep.

“Oh no,” Bernie hums, kissing the soft, smooth skin beneath her cheek. “I have plans for you, and we’re going to need every minute.” Her grin stretches into a leer that makes Serena throb. “I intend to have you on every surface in this house before I leave.” She noses lightly against Serena, a gust of warm breath making her shiver. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd very much like to get back to the task at hand, Ms Campbell.”

“If you insist, Ms Wolfe.” Serena’s words, already breathless, fade off into a moan as Bernie licks her slowly from entrance to clit, savoring every moment.

Their time apart since Bernie’s last surprise visit to Holby has been far from celibate, their intimacy maintained through the occasionally mutually satisfying phone call, a steady stream of texts and pictures (many of which Serena _deeply_ hopes never have cause to appear anywhere but on Bernie’s phone) and even handwritten letters. The discovery that Bernie has, beneath that layer of reserve, a stunningly vivid way with words, matched only by her deeply filthy mind, has been a delight. Serena has spent many a night in bed with her favorite vibrator, bringing herself to one shuddering orgasm after another, fueled by Bernie’s words.

But, god, nothing compares to this. To the feel of Bernie’s warm, slender body between her thighs, wild blonde hair brushing against skin as she explores Serena with lips and tongue. She floats away on the feeling, thinks she could almost be lulled back to sleep like this, pleasure lapping against her like waves on the beach, rhythmic and intoxicating.

Serena moans as Bernie’s fingers fill her, setting a slow, relentless pace in counterpoint to the maddening swirl of her tongue around Serena’s clit. One of her hands inevitably finds itself buried in Bernie’s tousled hair, the other reaching up to grip the headboard, desperate to ground herself against the overwhelming sensations.

Normally she would hold herself back, try to draw out her own pleasure, luxuriate in it. But it has been too long and the feel of Bernie there, warm, real and wonderful, is too much to resist. The fingers thrusting inside her curl forward, Bernie’s lips surrounding her throbbing clit, sucking softly, and Serena falls over the edge, body arching off the bed as she gasps, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her.

She collapses back against the mattress panting, aftershocks shuddering through her body as Bernie moves up, settling her elbows against the bed on either side of Serena, kissing her with slow, thorough sweetness. It’s too much to consider moving, her body sinking bonelessly into the mattress, awash in a sea of endorphins and lingering exhaustion.

Bernie seems to feel the same, just nuzzles into the curve of Serena’s neck with a soft sigh of pleasure as Serena works a hand between their bodies, between Bernie’s thighs. They move together slowly, bodies surging and ebbing like the tide, the rest of the world disappearing outside of the cocoon of silence they’ve created around themselves.

Serena can feel Bernie’s lips, wet and warm, pressed against her skin, the gust of her breath making her shiver, hair like cornsilk spilled across her throat. Bernie doesn’t make a noise, only a hitch of her breath and the flutter of muscles around her fingers telling Serena when she comes. The tension leaves Bernie’s body in a rush and she slumps against Serena, a warm, welcome weight, and Serena just settles her arms around her waist, holding Bernie that much closer and burying her nose in her hair.

Bernie eventually rolls off to the side, an arm flung across Serena’s waist, their legs intertwined, her head resting on Serena’s shoulder as delicate fingers trail through her hair, teasing out the tangles and separating the golden strands. She feels Bernie shift, her face stretching in a jaw-cracking yawn.

“I thought I was done with partners who rolled over and went to sleep after sex when I was done with men,” Serena quips without opening her eyes, squirming as Bernie pinches her hip.

“Cheeky,” Bernie mutters against her collarbone, lets out another wide yawn, and Serena can feel the tug of sleep at her closed eyelids.

“We’re supposed to meet the kids.” Serena means to sounds stern, but the words come out faint and a little garbled. Long arms tighten around her waist as Bernie settles closer, rubbing her cheek against Serena’s chest like a particularly contented house cat.

“Kids can wait,” she says, words muddled by another yawn. “Rest first.”

Whatever she says next is lost as Serena sinks back into the sweet oblivion of sleep.


	3. I'm hooked and I can't stop starin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 3: Spanking
> 
> Four times Bernie was staring at Serena's ass

_i._

Brow furrowed in concentration, Bernie makes her way across AAU, attention firmly on the tablet in her hand, on the patient scans that just aren’t adding up. It’s almost harder sometimes, she thinks, the twin luxuries of technology and time clouding decisions that would happen on the strength of intuition and a prayer in the field.

It doesn’t help that she hasn’t been on the ward long, knows she’s still trying to make a good impression, and it makes her more hesitant to ask for help. It’s a ridiculous impulse, one she’s trying to rid herself of, especially when she and Serena work so well together.

Pushing through the half open office door, she glances up only long enough to see Serena rummaging in the filing cabinet behind her desk, already in pale AAU blue scrubs for their upcoming procedure, before returning her attention to the scans. 

“Serena, can you take a look at this? I’ve got Mr. Jefferson’s scans and something here just isn’t adding up.”

“Damn!”

Bernie’s head jerks up at the curse, at the sound of small objects clattering across the floor. Her mouth is already open to offer help as her eyes land where Serena’s bag has fallen off the nearby visitor’s chair, spilling it’s contents out onto the linoleum. 

The offer gets lost somewhat, all thought of words flying from her head like leaves scattered in the wind at the sight of Serena bent at the waist, grumbling as she gathers up the scattered contents of her purse.

She knows she’s attracted to Serena, for all that she doesn’t allow herself to dwell on it. Has known it since they met in the car park - her terrible first day immediately turned around by sparkling eyes and a warm handshake, the fizzing spark of flirtation lighting her up from the inside for a few brief, wonderful moments until thoughts of Marcus and the ever present wave of guilt they inspire smothered them. 

It will never be anything, she knows that. Serena is straight. A colleague. The only real friend Bernie has these days, and she’s sworn to herself she won’t make the same mistakes again.

But Bernie isn’t blind and Serena is beautiful. Just because it’s impossible doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate the depth of Serena’s eyes, the dimple in her chin, the quirk of her lips when she’s holding back a laugh, the way she can communicate a novel’s worth of suggestion with the arch of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. It’s harmless, she thinks, like looking at a painting in a gallery. Basking in beauty at a distance, safe in the knowledge that you can’t reach out and touch.

What she hadn’t realized, hasn’t allowed herself to notice, is just what Serena hides beneath flowing blouses and sensible trousers. 

Nothing is hidden now; the thin cotton of Serena’s scrubs stretched taut across the enticing swell of her backside, framing the curve of her hips, her thighs, the shape of her legs. All in all, presenting a vision that sends Bernie’s pulse into the stratosphere.

Her best impulses are shoved aside by the sudden vivid imaginings of her frustrated libido, details magnifying, spinning out into possibilities she hasn’t allowed herself to consider before now. 

There’s a raised crease beneath the blue fabric, the edge of Serena’s knickers, cut high on her hips, and Bernie can’t help but imagine finding out what’s hidden beneath her scrubs. _Satin_ , she thinks, _maybe lace_. Something feminine and decadent, just like Serena herself.

Like a film projected directly into her mind, Bernie pictures crowding close to Serena, catching her wrists before she can protest and pressing her hands against the office wall.

“Quiet,” Bernie would whisper roughly, licking a line up the tendon of Serena’s neck, feeling her shiver and melt against her.

Another step forward, feet bracketing Serena’s, an arm around her waist pulling them flush, biting back a moan at the way Serena’s hips fit snug and perfect against her own. Listening to Serena’s breathing, shallow and rapid, as Bernie’s fingers find the tie of her scrub pants.

 _Satin_ , she confirms a moment later, warm and smooth against her fingers as they push beneath, delve into coarse, tangled curls. The wetness she finds short circuits Bernie’s brain a bit, and she almost misses Serena’s stuttered curse, the way her hips jerk forward into Bernie’s hand, searching for more pressure. Bernie complies with the silent request, nips along the edge of Serena’s jaw as she strokes a slow circle around her clit. Pressing that much closer, Bernie muffles a groan in the crook of Serena’s neck, her hips cradling Serena’s arse at just the right angle to build a delicious, teasing friction between them, bright sparks of pleasure blossoming between Bernie’s thighs.

They find a rhythm together, the office silent aside from their ragged breaths, bodies moving in tandem, as in sync in this as they are in theater. Bernie feels Serena’s growing tension, her desperation ratcheting up as Bernie circles her fingers tighter, faster, determined to see her break first. She has to fight to hold herself back when Serena finally breaks the silence, voice high and tight as she moans her name.

_“Bernie…”_

“Bernie?”

A flush of heat floods Bernie as she breaks free from her reverie, finds Serena staring at her, confused. She’s afraid to know what Serena sees, as if everything she was thinking is plastered across her face.

Ducking her head to the tablet gripped white-knuckle tight in her hand, Bernie takes a step forward, grasping for some sense of normalcy, even as she tries not to squirm at the dampness of her knickers.

“Mister, ah, Jefferson,” Bernie says eventually, hoping her voice sounds somewhere near normal as she holds the tablet out to Serena. “I was hoping to pick your brain…”

 

_ii._

Bernie’s stomach twists as she walks onto AAU, just as it has every day, every hour, for the last three weeks. Where before her eyes would seek out Serena hopefully, drawn like filings to a magnet, now they flit about warily as if Serena is going to jump out of the shadows at any moment.

She hates it.

 _All because you couldn’t keep your lips to yourself_ , Bernie thinks sourly. _Idiot_.

One moment. A moment where fear and adrenaline and exhaustion weakened the tight fisted control Bernie kept on her ever growing feelings for Serena, was all it took for her to ruin everything. One slip and she managed to terrify the life out of Serena, to destroy their friendship, the comfort that’s been between them from the beginning.

And the worst part, is that no matter how awkward and painful it all is, a piece of her can’t even regret it. 

It makes her sick that she frightened Serena, that she’s made her so uncomfortable, damaged the closest friendship she’s ever had. But it’s hard to truly regret it when she lies awake at night remembering how soft Serena’s lips are, the way they opened so readily for her tongue, the feel of Serena’s hands buried in her hair, nails scraping deliciously against her scalp.

God help her, it’s all she can think about. She’s almost glad that Serena has put them on opposing shifts, because at least then she doesn’t have to pretend that she not dying on the inside every time Serena smiles.

 _It’s for the best_ , Bernie reminds herself, her mantra since she left the office after lying to Serena’s face, saying that she wanted to keep things confined to theater. _It’s for the best, it’s for the best, it’s for the-_

“Hello, stranger.”

Serena is suddenly there beside her and Bernie almost trips over her own feet, heart slamming into overdrive at the sound of that beautiful voice. Shamefully, her first instinct is to run. Turn on her heel and walk away rather than face the awkwardness. But then she sees the hope in Serena’s eyes, a spark of their old warmth that makes Bernie wonder if this is an olive branch on Serena’s part, a first attempt to bridge the chasm between them.

“Serena, right?” Bernie says, her heart flipping in her chest when she’s rewarded with a laugh. They walk side by side toward the nurses station, almost as if nothing is amiss.

“Very droll.” Serena glances toward her as she steps ahead, some of the nervousness still evident even as she tries to hide it behind a veneer of bravado. “Um, so is it me avoiding you, or you avoiding me?”

Bernie almost misses the comment, caught up in the fact that it’s been over a week since she’s actually seen Serena for more than a passing glance. Any hope that the attraction has faded with distance is gone in an instant as her eyes trail helplessly over Serena’s silhouette, drawn inevitably to where the bright blue silk of her blouse flutters around her hips as she walks.

For the thousandth time, Bernie finds herself wondering what could’ve happened if the nurses hadn’t come in as they sat on the floor, the noise startling Serena out of Bernie’s arms and out of the scrub room before she could even say a word. Alone in her flat at night, the door never slams open and Serena stays with her. They kiss endlessly, Serena’s hands tangled tight in Bernie’s hair as they each try and get closer, unable to get enough of one another now that they’ve started.

The Serena of her dreams eventually slides herself across Bernie’s lap, straddling her, the warm weight of her so right. Still kissing Serena like she might die without, Bernie’s hands find their way beneath her scrub top, against the warm, soft skin of Serena’s back, before sliding lower, over the swell of her arse. The curves of Serena’s body are a perfect fit beneath Bernie’s hands, just like she knew they would be.

But that isn’t what happened. And Bernie doesn’t know what the curves of Serena’s body feel like. All she’s left with is the empty space where Serena’s friendship used to be, desperately wishing she could get back what they had.

“Talk about ships that pass in the night,” Bernie manages wanly, shoving her dreams to the back of her mind. _No point in wishing for what you can’t have_ , she reminds herself sternly. _Focus on being her friend._

 

_iii._

It’s all a bit awkward, Bernie thinks, shifting on the bed and settling the soft straps more firmly around her hips. With anyone else, she knows she’d be embarrassed, self-conscious about the whole idea. But it’s hard to feel anything other than lucky when an extremely naked Serena Campbell is looking at you like you’re a particularly nice vintage of shiraz.

“Oh, darling,” Serena says softly. “You’re _gorgeous_.” Her voice is already a little breathy, the sound of it making Bernie’s stomach clench.

She has to stop her hips from bucking up as Serena drizzles a bit of lube along the toy, spreading it over the purple silicone shaft with a few firm strokes of her hand, before moving lower, beneath the harness that’s pressed snug against Bernie’s pelvis. Bernie groans as Serena’s fingers, cool and slick, slip into her easily, those beautiful eyes burning down at her, full of hunger.

Overwhelmed with the need to have Serena, to have her _now_ , Bernie starts to sit up, reaching for Serena’s hips. Firm hands grip her shoulders instead, pressing her back down into the mattress, the intensity of Serena’s gaze holding her in place as surely as the weight of her on her shoulders.

“Trust me?” Serena asks, leaning down to brush her lips along Bernie’s jaw.

“Always,” Bernie replies immediately, fervent and certain. She moans a little as Serena’s mouth moves over hers, disappointed when she pulls away.

Serena turns away, and Bernie’s burgeoning protest disappears into a curse as Serena swings a leg over Bernie’s hips, one hand braced on her knee, the other reaching back to steady the toy. Bernie thinks her heart might beat right out of her chest when Serena sinks down slowly, hearing her whimper, watching the toy disappear inside her.

She’s beautiful, it makes Bernie’s breath catch in her chest, trying to take in all the details: the set of Serena’s shoulders, scattered with freckles and small, faded scars, the sinuous line of her spine, the soft dip of her waist, the curve of her arse, pressed snug against Bernie’s hips. She never wants to forget this moment, how this feels.

And then Serena starts to _move_ , and Bernie’s best intentions disappear in a flash as pleasure short circuits her brain. 

Each roll of her hips grinds the textured base of the toy against Bernie’s clit, makes her hips jerk in response, thrusting up that much harder. As beautiful as Serena is in stillness, in motion Bernie finds herself overwhelmed, already struggling to hold herself back at the sight of Serena riding her.

Hands falling to Serena’s hips, Bernie holds on tight, tight enough that Serena will tease her about the finger shaped bruises on her arse in the morning, and gives herself over to the pleasure.

 

_iv._

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Bernie taps out a text to Charlotte, hoping they can meet up for at least a cup of coffee before her flight back to Nairobi tomorrow afternoon. Bernie knows she should’ve probably gotten in touch earlier, but outside of her appointment with the estate agent to finalize the sale of her flat, she’s barely made it out of this room for the last twenty-four hours.

Not that she’s complaining. A grin lifts the corners of her mouth as she stretches, feeling the delicious soreness in her muscles, the bite mark on her shoulder that will be an impressive bruise by morning. She treasures every ache, the tangible reminders of the time she and Serena have spent reconnecting.

She looks up at the sound of the ensuite door opening, mouth going dry at the sight of Serena. She’s abandoned her trousers and jumper in favor of a deep green slip that Bernie has never seen before. The silken fabric falls like water over Serena’s body, hugging every curve, sheer black lace edging the low cut neckline, the high cut hem.

Bernie sits in place, frozen, jaw dropped a bit as Serena walks - no, _prowls_ toward her.

“Is-” Bernie clears her throat, searching for a calm she doesn’t feel. “Is that new?”

Serena’s eyes go wide with an innocence so patently false that Bernie would laugh if her heart weren’t hammering like a rabbit. 

“Oh, this?” She plucks at the hem, raising it a little higher on her thighs, and Bernie has to bite back a whimper. “This is just a little something I picked up with Fleur one day. She said it looked so good on me, I had to have it.”

She knows Serena is winding her up. They discussed Fleur the night before and logically Bernie knows there’s nothing to worry about. That knowledge does nothing to stop the hot stab of jealousy flaring in her, which she knows is exactly what Serena wants.

Bernie leans back on her hands, watching as Serena comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Enjoying teasing me?”

Serena grins, entirely unrepentant. “Oh yes.”

Her reply stirs something contrary in Bernie. Eyes narrowing, her hand shoots out to grip Serena’s wrist, surprising a yelp from her. She tugs, pulling Serena off balance and onto the bed where they tussle for a bit, laughing and shouting as they each try to get the upper hand.

Serena may be wiley, but Bernie is stronger. She manages to drag Serena across her lap, face down, hips pressed against Bernie’s thigh. 

With a squawk of offence, Serena tries to squirm away, but Bernie holds her fast with an arm across her waist, her other hand coming down on her arse with a sharp _smack_. Serena stills against her, breath coming fast, and Bernie’s hand rubs soothing circles against the spot, feeling the slip of silk against her skin. 

“Always such a tease,” Bernie murmurs, circles widening to catch the hem of the slip, pulling it higher. “Maybe you need to be punished for that.” She pauses her motions, feels Serena’s sharp intake of breath against her legs. A long moment later the tension leaves her body and Bernie just hears her whisper.

“ _Yes._ ”

Blood rushing in her ears, Bernie tugs the slip up to Serena’s waist, groaning at the discovery that she’s not wearing any knickers underneath. She let her hand trail lightly up the backs of Serena’s thighs, enjoying the softness of her skin, before once again bringing her hand down sharply on the swell of Serena’s rear. Serena gasps, tense for a moment, then melts deeper into Bernie’s lap, giving herself over. 

Bernie leans down to press a soft kiss between Serena’s shoulder blades, and then she begins.

Serena’s moans and cries fill her ears as she brings her hand down again and again, varying the strength and placement of each blow, pausing occasionally to stroke the well-warmed flesh in between. She works Serena as far as she dares, pushing her to take more until the skin of her backside is mottled red and hot to the touch, and Bernie’s hand is tingling.

Without pause, she slips her hand between Serena’s trembling thighs, pushing in three fingers to the hilt with no preamble, Serena’s shouted _“Fuck!”_ making her glad of an empty house. She knows it won’t be long, can feel how worked up Serena is, the wire taut tension of her body. Bernie sets an unrelenting pace, Serena’s hips meeting her thrusts, broken pants and babbled words muffled in the duvet.

When Serena finally comes, she’s surprisingly quiet, hands fisted in the sheets as she groans long and low, clenching hard again and again around Bernie’s fingers.

Bernie withdraws her hand once the fluttering subsides, coaxing a limp Serena further up the bed. She wraps Serena up in her arms, her head tucked beneath Bernie’s chin, one of her hands resting just gently against Serena’s arse, feeling the heat radiating through the thin silk.

“Just you wait until I wake up.” Serena’s words are a little slurred, punctuated by a yawn as she nuzzles closer against Bernie’s neck.

Grinning, Bernie presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “I look forward to it.”


	4. sweet talk with a hint of sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 4: Dirty talk

_Five steps. Turn. Five steps. Turn._

“Serena.”

_Five steps. Turn. Five steps._

“Serena!”

Serena looks up from her notecards with a frown to where Bernie is leaning against the wall of the small lounge, arms crossed.

“At this rate you’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

She flushes a little at that, shoulders slumping as she huffs out a sigh. _It’s just a speech_ , she tells herself for the thousandth time. Normally Serena prides herself on her poise in front of a crowd, and speeches like this are nothing she hasn’t done before. It’s not even the first time she’s spoken at an alumnae event, something she’s been asked to do for her graduating class from Oxford’s medical school in the past.

As much as it pains her to admit, she thinks some of her nerves are because Bernie is here with her. 

She knows how fortunate she’s been, that her coming out process has been far, far smoother than most. And she has never, will never, deny Bernie’s place in her life. They’ve been through far too much to get here for Serena to willingly pretend otherwise.

The problem is that these people don’t know Serena Campbell, lead consultant AAU, ex-deputy CEO, and Bernie Wolfe’s devoted partner. They know Serena McKinnie, valedictorian, driven medical student, swot. Some of them, god forbid, even know her as Edward Campbell’s fiancée. 

Serena hates gossip, hates it even more when it’s about herself. The idea of a room full of doctors whispering about her, speculating about her relationship with Bernie like it’s some sort of sordid affair, puts her teeth on edge.

Bernie steps forward, resting her hands on Serena’s bare shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothingly against her skin. “Serena, you’re going to be wonderful. There’s no need to be nervous. I’ll be right there in the audience, cheering you on.” She smiles encouragingly and Serena feels some of the tightness in her chest loosen, manages to take a deep breath.

“Now let’s get out there, tiger. Show them what you’re made of.”

They make their way to the door, Bernie’s hand resting lightly on her lower back, these last few precious moments of contact helping to further ease Serena’s nerves. Bernie holds the door open, and as Serena walks through leans in to speak softly into her ear.

“And if it helps, when we get home? I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak.”

Serena stumbles a little on the carpet, legs no longer seeming to communicate with her brain, head whipping around as Bernie’s hand comes back to her waist to steady her. The hint of a smile lingers on Bernie’s lips, her eyes practically black, burning into Serena with an intensity that makes her gasp. 

And then with a cheeky wink she’s gone, making her way into the crowded ballroom, leaving a stunned Serena in her wake.

She almost manages to forget as she circulates the cocktail party, navigating an unending series of handshakes and introductions, making dull conversation with far too many pompous men for her liking. And then out of the corner of her eye she sees a flash of blonde hair, feels those dark eyes on her, and Bernie’s words come back to her, a shiver of desire slithering along her spine.

Excusing herself from yet another doctor touting his own accomplishments, Serena makes her way to the bar, hoping against hope they’ll have a shiraz decent enough to make this all bearable. Waiting for the bartender to turn her way, she suddenly feels someone standing close behind her, the warmth of a body at her back. Before she can turn, there’s an exhalation of breath against her neck, raising goosebumps on her skin.

“We’ll start in the front hall.” Bernie’s voice is steady and conversational in her ear, just loud enough for Serena to hear it over the murmur of the party. “I know how impatient you can be. I’m going to pin you up against the door and slide my hand underneath that dress. Find out just how wet you are for me.”

Before Serena can muster a response, Bernie steps away, disappearing back into the crowd. 

Bracing her hands on the bar, she has to swallow hard in order to speak when the bartender finally makes his way over.The quality of the wine doesn’t matter, in the end; she gulps down half the glass in a swallow, trying to calm the frantic pounding of her heart.

The party goes on around her, but Serena hardly takes any of it in. Everywhere she turns, when she least expects it, Bernie is there. Her voice never wavers, stays placid, as if she were discussing the weather, as she spills delicious filth into Serena’s ears, the words making her head spin and her thighs clench.

_“I won’t even bother to undress you. Just push up your dress, pull aside your knickers, and make you come with my mouth. I can’t wait to taste you.”_

_“I might try the new harness. Get you on your hands and knees and fuck you slow and deep, just the way you like it.”_

_“I wonder how many times I can make you come before you beg me to stop?”_

Serena almost jumps out of her skin when one of the organizers taps her on the shoulder, every inch of her body tense and hyper aware. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Bernie chuckling, almost misses the young woman telling her that she’s due at the podium in 15 minutes.

She takes the opportunity to duck to the ladies, glad when she finds it empty. Arousal pulses through her veins, thick and hot, Bernie’s words still swirling through her brain. For a moment she thinks about taking care of herself, just to dull the keen edge of frustration, knows it wouldn’t take much. But she can’t shake the memory of Bernie’s eyes following her around the room, and a part of her treasures the tension, this tangible connection to the woman she loves more than anything. Instead of getting herself off, she cleans up her knickers as best she can and tries to bring her raging libido back under control.

Stepping out of the stall, Serena freezes at the sight of Bernie leaning against the countertop, looking entirely too smug. It would be infuriating if it weren’t so devastatingly sexy.

Brushing past her without a word, Serena washes her trembling hands, keeping her eyes on the flowing water and ignoring the flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. When she looks up Bernie is standing behind her, closer than she realized, and their eyes lock in the mirror as she dries her hands. Bernie edges that much closer, close enough that Serena can feel the heat of her, the faint brush of breasts against her back.

“I’m going to take my time with you tonight.” Serena can’t look away, loses herself in the depths of Bernie’s dark eyes. “No matter how desperate you get, or how much you beg. Pin you down to the bed, taste every inch of you.” Bernie’s voice is almost hypnotizing, everything else reduced to a muted buzz on the edge of Serena’s hearing. “I might even use one of your lovely silk scarves, make sure you keep your hands to yourself.”

“ _Jesus_ , Bernie.” Serena can’t hold back the whimper, feels surrounded, overwhelmed by her. A feeling that’s only amplified by Bernie’s filthy chuckle in her ear.

“I’ll have you screaming that by the end of the night.”

Blood pounds in Serena’s ears, her fingertips white where they’re pressed hard against the marble countertop, the only thing that’s keeping her standing. It’s almost a relief when Bernie moves away, walks out of the bathroom with a parting smirk, the heavy door swinging closed behind her.

Serena counts to ten slowly in her head, twice, feeling her heart rate slow back to something approaching normal. Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, she runs it under the cold tap, pressing the damp cloth to her thrumming pulse point.

As collected as she’s going to get, given the insistent throbbing between her thighs, she turns to make her way to the podium.

The speech goes well, in the end, is greeted with a round of applause that seems more enthusiastic than polite, a rarity for this crowd. Serena discovers that being turned on to the point of combustion is a surprisingly effective antidote to nervousness, hardly even feels a flutter of concern as she steps before the microphone. 

Afterward, Serena passes through a sea of handshakes and well wishes, slowly making her way to where Bernie is slouched against the back wall, effortlessly elegant. Some of the confidence in her expression slides away when Serena marches right past her, out the ballroom doors. She hears the clack of Bernie’s heels behind her on the tiled floor of the lobby.

“Serena?” Pausing to retrieve her coat, she turns back as she slips it on, sees the confusion on Bernie’s face. “Aren’t we staying for cocktails?”

Two steps forward puts her well in Bernie’s personal space, the surprise in her eyes giving Serena a stab of satisfaction after this evening’s torment. Fisting her hand in the front of Bernie’s impeccably tailored shirt, Serena tugs sharply, crashing their lips together. Bernie gasps and Serena doesn’t hesitate, slips her tongue into Bernie’s mouth and kisses her as slow and filthy as she can manage. She thinks she must succeed, given the glassiness of Bernie’s eyes when they part, the sudden vivid color in her cheeks.

“I’m going to go home,” Serena says steadily, hand still clutching the placket of Bernie’s shirt. “I’d prefer if you joined me, but if you’d rather stay for cocktails, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” A quirk of her eyebrow makes her meaning plain, and the sultry smile returns to Bernie’s lips.

“Lead the way.”


	5. pull me into your universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 5: Restraints, hair pulling, biting/marking
> 
> Serena decides to go shopping for a new bed

Bernie Wolfe has never much believed in the afterlife, in the idea of a higher power. She’s seen too much in her years of medicine, is too much a realist to put her faith in the idea of something beyond what she can see and touch. 

Now, at fifty-three years old, she finds herself reconsidering everything she thought she knew, because Bernie is _definitely_ in hell.

She shuffles her feet as she follows Serena into yet another furniture shop, the hopes Bernie had of spending their day off in bed disappearing the moment Serena announced she wanted to buy a new bed frame. Bernie’s immediate response of “What’s wrong with the one you have?” was received with a raised eyebrow and a glare that brooked no argument.

And so, instead of being naked atop fabulously soft sheets and on her third orgasm of the morning, Bernie is trailing along as Serena declares seemingly every bed in Holby unfit for purpose. 

Too short. Too wide. Too narrow. Wrong color. Wrong style. Wood that’s too dark. Metal that’s too light. Bernie honestly didn’t realize there were so many options, that the decision on a piece of furniture they’d hardly ever see in daylight could be such a major one. 

She thinks again about mentioning that there’s nothing wrong with their current bed, the headboard a plain, solid wood affair that Serena’s had as long as Bernie has known her, but hesitates. Serena is a woman on a mission and getting in her way doesn’t feel worth the inevitable argument. 

This new shop looks just like the one before, and the one before that. Bernie could swear some of these exact beds were available at the previous shops, the details of it all blurring together in her mind. She lags behind as yet another young, perky sales woman escorts them around the bedroom furniture, wonders if Serena would notice if she snuck off to sit on one of the comfortable looking sofas they passed on the way in. 

“Ah-ha!”

Bernie frowns a little as she looks at the bed Serena is standing beside; a fairly massive thing, the soft looking upholstered headboard almost five feet tall and surrounded by metal pipework, a shorter version replicated at the foot with metal rails connecting the two. 

It’s nice enough, she supposes, but not at all what she would’ve expected, far more her style than Serena’s, if she’s honest. A part of her wonders if this is another of Serena’s efforts to make Bernie feel more a part of their now combined home, always worried that Bernie doesn’t feel like the house belongs to her despite all Bernie’s assurances to the contrary.

Serena’s looking at her like she’s waiting for some kind of input, so Bernie tries to formulate a response, head flopping to the side as she squints slightly in thought.

“It’s a bit big, don’t you think?” Serena only half rolls her eyes at that. Bernie takes it as a win.

“I suppose, but the bedroom is plenty large enough to hold it. Besides,” Serena says, tugging a bit on one of the metal pipes thoughtfully, “I want to make sure we get something…sturdy.” There’s something in her voice that raises goosebumps on Bernie’s skin, a little more husk than usual. She wonders if maybe there’s more going on here than just a bit of redecorating on a whim.

Before she can open her mouth to ask, Serena has waved the girl back over, digging in her bag for her credit card.

“Tell me, do you do same day delivery?”

…

“Thank you.” 

Bernie closes the door behind the workmen, can hear Serena moving about upstairs, making up the new bed no doubt. Whistling a snippet of a tune they were listening to in the car, she stops in the kitchen and pours two glasses from the bottle of wine sitting out on the bench, sipping at one as she makes her way up to the bedroom.

The bed looks good in the room, Bernie has to admit. Certainly far better than she expected from her brief perusal at the shop. She leans against the doorframe, taking another slow sip of her wine, enjoying the sight of Serena bent over in front of her, tucking the ends of the duvet in behind the footboard.

“See something you like?” Serena’s voice is low and teasing, a twist of delight quirking her lips. Bernie takes her time, letting her gaze trail over Serena from top to bottom and back again. By the time their eyes meet, Serena’s cheeks have gone a bit pink.

“Absolutely,” Bernie replies with a crooked grin, walking further into the room. She hands Serena the other glass and slips an arm around her waist, pulling them together from shoulder to thigh. She feels Serena shift that much closer, the atmosphere thickening between them as Bernie’s fingers start unconsciously tracing circles on Serena’s hip.

“Well, there’s only one last thing to do,” Serena says, stepping away just far enough to set her glass on the nearby nightstand.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Before Bernie can breathe, Serena is back in her personal space, arms sliding up over her shoulders, eyes so close and dark. “We need to christen the new bed.” Bernie feels Serena’s fingers slide into her hair, blunt nails scratching her scalp slightly, making her eyelids flutter, their lips practically touching.

“That,” Bernie murmurs, brushing the lightest of kisses against Serena’s oh so inviting mouth, “is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

By some miracle Bernie manages to set her wine down without spilling, a challenge with Serena’s hands tugging on her hair and her wicked tongue sliding into Bernie’s mouth. She grunts into the kiss when her hip hits the bed unexpectedly. The mattress is higher now, the angle different than she’s used to, and when they tumble down onto it, it’s all a bit of a mess; limbs tangled, kisses sloppy and uncoordinated, laughter making their teeth bump, hands pulling at random bits of clothing as they each race to get the other naked first. It’s ridiculous and wonderful and Bernie’s heart swells with joy even as desire thrums through her veins.

In the midst of Bernie tugging Serena’s vest up over her head, Serena gets the upper hand, straddling Bernie’s hips and pinning her hands down to the duvet. Her eyes are sparkling with mischievous intent, so smug and sexy that Bernie’s helpless to fight back. She relaxes into the bed, moaning as Serena kisses her slow and deep, teeth tugging slightly at her bottom lip. 

Sitting back on her heels, Serena sets to work on the small buttons of Bernie’s shirt, as focused and intent on this task as she is in theater, naked desire in her gaze as more and more of Bernie’s skin is revealed. Even after all this time, the idea that Serena wants her fills Bernie with a kind of incredulous wonder. Serena looks at her like she’s a marvel and it never fails to make Bernie feel more beautiful, more desirable, than she ever could’ve imagined.

Now is no different, Serena’s pupils blown wide as she pulls apart the halves of Bernie’s shirt, a low sort of growl in the back of her throat. The plain black bra is quickly discarded and Bernie arches up with a gasp as Serena’s hands cover her breasts, fingers flicking and teasing her sensitive nipples.

She bends low, the lace of her bra deliciously rough against Bernie’s stomach as she trails wet, open mouthed kisses down the length of Bernie’s neck, the ridge of her collarbone, dipping her tongue into the hollow of her throat. Bernie’s already squirming, hands clutching at the duvet, as Serena makes her way lower, lapping at the raised flesh of Bernie’s scar, nipping at the underside of her breast before soothing the sting with a swipe of her tongue. Meanwhile, her nimble fingers work the button of Bernie’s fly free, lower the zipper easily.

Sliding off the bed, she urges Bernie to lift her hips, whisking her skinny black denims and knickers down her legs with a well practiced tug, and Bernie shivers a bit, not sure if it’s from the chill in the room or the hungry look in Serena’s eyes. She watches avidly as Serena unbuttons her trousers, lets them drop to the floor, never able to look away from the unveiling of her body.

Serena crawls back over her, and Bernie’s sigh of satisfaction at the first touch of her skin is swallowed in a slow, searing kiss. She could happily spend all night like this, trailing her hands over the soft skin of Serena’s back, their bodies pressed so close, curves and planes matching like they were made to fit together, but it’s clear Serena has other ideas.

Bernie whimpers at the first press of Serena’s fingers, just barely circling her clit, making her buck up helplessly in search of more. A fruitless search, as Serena seems intent on teasing; fingers flitting about, dipping lower, then drawing more wetness upward, touching everywhere except where Bernie wants with increasing desperation. 

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation.” It takes Bernie a moment to register that Serena is speaking, her lips pressed close to Bernie’s ear as her fingers continue their wicked work. “You remember, after your welcome back party?” 

Bernie flushes at that, a swirl of longing and embarrassment knotting in her stomach. Truth be told, she doesn’t remember that night with much clarity. By the time they made it back from the festivities at Albie’s, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, they were both well past inebriated. The entryway table still has a bit of a wobble, the first casualty of their stumbling progress up to their bedroom.

Once there, her memories are scattered; nebulous impressions of skin, of pleasure, flashes of Serena’s burning eyes and eager hands. The only thing she remembers with any certainty is a moment much like this. Herself writhing and panting as Serena brought her to a fever pitch and then held her there. Serena’s voice in her ear like a siren’s song, asking for her deepest desires, her fantasies, anything she’d ever dreamed of in their long time apart. Normally more reticent, in that moment Bernie can remember being willing to tell Serena anything, babbling her most hidden longings into the darkness surrounding their bed as Serena took her over the edge again and again.

“There’s something I’d like to try.” Serena’s voice is rich and dark, her teeth sharp against the shell of Bernie’s ear. “If you’re willing to trust me.” 

Bernie stammers out an agreement, helpless to do otherwise. She’s trusted Serena with everything right from the beginning, even before she had any real reason to do so, and she trusts her even more in this. 

She has to bite back a noise of dissatisfaction when Serena pulls away, retreats to the other side of the bed and starts rummaging about. Bernie takes a few deep breaths, tries to bring her heart rate back under control, mind racing with nervous anticipation of what Serena has planned.

Serena turns back with a predatory smile on her lips and a length of rope coiled in her hands, and Bernie’s certain that she stops breathing.

“Kneel for me, darling.” 

Bernie scrambles up to her knees in the center of the bed, fighting the urge to squeeze her legs together, genuinely afraid the slightest friction will make her come. Serena’s smile widens at her eagerness, satisfaction edged with love and affection. She shift a little closer, grasping Bernie’s wrists and lifting her hands between them, arranges them palm to palm as if in prayer.

“I’ve been practicing,” Serena says matter of factly, and Bernie’s heart flips a bit at the idea that Serena has been working in secret to fulfill her desires. “But this is my first time on a live subject, so you’ll have to be patient with me.” 

Bernie can see the uncertainty behind Serena’s bravado, the ever present worry that she’s going to be a disappointment, wants more than anything to lean in and kiss her, tell her that she could never be anything less than a wonder in Bernie’s eyes. Instead, she settles back on her heels, holds her hands steady, a supplicant to Serena’s will.

The rope is surprisingly soft as Serena loops it about Bernie’s wrists, slithering smoothly across her skin as Serena tightens the coils, knots them into place. Concentration furrows Serena’s brow, eyes focused on the task at hand, and it makes Bernie’s heart swell even more.

She must get a little lost in watching Serena, because sooner than she’d have guessed Serena sits back, looking at Bernie expectantly. 

The rope is wrapped a few times around each of her wrists and knotted securely in between, the trailing end still held in Serena’s hand. She tugs against it a little, impressed at how secure it seems, the rope not impinging on her circulation but tight enough to her skin that she thinks she’ll have marks by the time they’re finished. The thought is unexpectedly appealing.

“Does it feel all right? Not too tight?” At Bernie’s nod, Serena presses a tender kiss to her fingertips, leans in to kiss Bernie sweetly, her bound hands between them. Serena’s hands settle on her hips, tugging slightly. “Turn for me.” 

Bernie shifts so she’s facing the head of the bed, a tap on her rear encouraging her to scoot a little closer to it. Her eyes widen as Serena threads the loose ends of the rope over the pipework at the top of the headboard. 

One firm tug and Bernie’s arms are lifted, hands above her head. She can feel the stretch in her shoulders as Serena secures the ends of the rope to the pipe, shifts forward on her knees to ease the pull.

Rope tied off, Serena disappears from Bernie’s field of vision, though she can still feel her, feel Serena’s eyes on her. Blood rushes in Bernie’s ears, makes her a little dizzy. She’s fantasized about this, but the reality of being at Serena’s mercy, restrained and on display, is more heady and intense than she ever could’ve imagined.

She starts a little at the featherlight touch of Serena’s fingertips following the curve of her spine, hears her sigh of satisfaction.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Serena’s fingertips disappear, replaced a moment later by her lips, ghosting kisses all across Bernie’s shoulders, the back of her neck. 

Serena’s arms wrap around her, hands coming up to cup Bernie’s breasts, and she groans as the gentle kisses turn to nips, lingering swipes of Serena’s tongue. Her body wants to move, wants to get closer to Serena, to lean into her touch, but the rope prevents it, digging in her wrists a bit as she unconsciously pulls against her bonds.

Bernie gives herself over to the sensations, closes her eyes and leans her forehead against the softly padded fabric of the headboard. It feels like every inch of her skin is sensitized, waiting on tenterhooks for Serena’s next touch, never sure if it will be the softness of her mouth or the sharp edge of her teeth pressed against her flesh. Her nipples are stiff and aching beneath the torment of Serena’s fingers, each touch like a livewire echoed between her legs. She flinches as blunt nails drag over her ribs, the curve of her hip, trails of heat blossoming across her skin.

Two fingers push into her unexpectedly, pulling a strangled cry from her throat, and she hears Serena’s dark chuckle in her ears, feels her warm breath on her skin.

“Oh my, you _are_ enjoying this, aren’t you?” Bernie whimpers, nodding slightly, gasping as Serena’s fingers press even harder inside her. “Aren’t you?” Her tone is implacable, demanding, sends a shiver of lust racing up Bernie’s spine.

“Y-yes,” Bernie stammers, hips already matching the movements of Serena’s hand against her, the familiar dance between them. 

As quickly as it started, Serena’s touch disappears, leaves Bernie wet and aching, heart racing at the thought of what’s coming next. She feels the bed shift as Serena slips off of it, hears her walking around the room. A drawer opens and shuts, soft shuffling the only sound in the room. The seconds drag on, uncertainty ratcheting Bernie’s nervous arousal higher and higher, until her hands are trembling a bit in their bonds.

She practically sobs in relief when the bed sinks beneath Serena’s weight, her presence once again palpable at Bernie’s back. Hands grip her hips, tugging them back slightly, one sliding down to slap gently against her inner thigh.

“Wider, darling.” Bernie complies, settles her knees farther apart. She knows the position puts her even more on display, shudders as she imagines the look on Serena’s face.

Fingers part her easily, cool and slick, dipping inside before skidding across her clit, hips jumping helplessly at the shock of pleasure. A moment later, something presses against her entrance, pressure sinking it deeper, her body adjusting to the delicious stretch.

Serena molds herself to Bernie’s back, close enough that she can feel the lace still encasing her breasts, the leather straps of the harness against her arse. They stay like that for a long moment, joined, breathing together. Bernie feels surrounded by Serena, connected to her, willing to give her anything she asks and more, lust arcing between them like electricity.

“I love you,” Serena whispers in her ear, soft enough that Bernie thinks she feels them more than hears them, her heart stuttering an uneven rhythm in her chest.

And then Serena starts to move.

Her fingers dig hard into Bernie’s hips as the pace slowly builds, each thrust rocking Bernie forward. Without the use of her hands, she braces her elbows as best she can against the headboard, her cheek pressed to the fabric as pants and whimpers. Serena’s words about buying something sturdy flutter briefly through her mind and then are gone, washed away on a tidal wave of feeling.

It’s almost too much. The aching fullness of the toy inside her, the way it nudges just the right spot with each snap of Serena’s hips. Her shoulders and thighs are burning from the position she’s in, muscles straining, trying to keep her balance. Everything else disappears and all she can feel is the pleasure building inside her, spreading out from her center, flooding through her body.

Bernie hovers on the edge, so close she can taste it, but not quite able to pull herself over. She feels her lips moving, thinks she might be babbling, begging, but the words are muddled and indistinct, little more than white noise.

Serena’s hand sinks into her hair, twists around the curls and pulls back _hard_. Bernie cries out as her back arches into a bow, wrists pulled taut against the ropes, the new angle sending sparks of heat flashing through her. She thinks Serena growls something in her ear, feels a bright spot of pain as teeth sink into the the curve of her neck, and then she’s coming, her body pulsing and shuddering. It seems to go on forever, her hips jerking again and again in Serena’s hands, noises she doesn’t recognize spilling from her lips, until finally she slumps forward, her weight dangling from the ropes, muscles limp and exhausted.

Vaguely she’s aware of Serena still moving against her, inside her, feels her hips stutter and a curse muffled against her skin, then the weight of her draped across Bernie’s back.

Their ragged breathing fills the room, sweat slicked bodies pressed tight together as their heart rates dip back towards normal. Bernie winces a bit when Serena pulls away, feeling empty and exposed. She hears the harness thump to the floor then Serena’s close to her again, murmuring soothing words as her nimble fingers work at the rope, knots tightened by Bernie’s efforts.

Then finally rope comes loose from the headboard and Bernie falls back on her heels, Serena taking most of her weight and easing her down onto the mattress. She drifts a bit as Serena unwraps her wrists, hands rubbing gentle at the textured indentations left behind.

Bernie opens her eyes just long enough to slip beneath the duvet, exhaustion making everything a little fuzzy. “Just a quick nap before tea,” she mutters, words broken by a yawn. She feels Serena’s fingers stroke through her hair, a kiss brushed against her forehead before she pulls away.

“S’rena?”

“Hmmm?”

“I like the new bed.” 

Serena’s chuckle lingers in Bernie’s ears as she drifts to sleep.


End file.
